What I am
by Alandor Mersoc
Summary: When I was young I thought like a child, and acted like a child. Now that I am older I often think back to those times and wonder if it would be different if I accepted who I was.


Disclaimer: I own Nothing.

When I was young I thought I had nothing of importance to the world, all I was able to do was fight, so that was all I did. As I grew older I realised a very sad fact, fighting was all I was ever good at. They say people change over time, they grow older learn from mistakes, some become better people while others choose not to learn from their mistakes, and continue along the same path.

Change is something that people speak of as being a great thing. The most important part of what we are the ability to change and adept, to learn and understand. And these changes and experiences are the knowledge that we pass on to others.

I am not a wise man, in my youth I was selfish, and I thought my problems were the most important thing in the world. I held them close to me, guarded them from others, they were mine and I would keep them to myself regardless of how my actions would hurt another.

As I grew older and the world became bleak with turmoil and strife I realised that all I am truly good at is fighting. Looking back at the scared selfish kid I was I can't believe that I never saw it sooner.

The only time my life made sense, when throwing childish tantrums seemed stupid, when I put aside my selfish nature was in combat. I was afraid yes but that was only up until the point the fighting started. I was afraid to fight. But as a man I look back at my fears and realise that what scared me wasn't the fighting. To admit to the fact that I liked it was what scared me. To admit that fact terrified me, as I saw people be hurt because of me, people dying because of me I couldn't understand why I liked what I did.

A foolish boy in a foolish time, maybe if I had been able to understand it then as I do now things would have been different. Alas that was not the case, and we failed to stop a tragedy that could have been so easily avoided.

I think I understand why she hated me. For her piloting was her life. She was raised to do it, believing that she was the best, wanting to prove herself to the whole world as a superior person. A child wanting to be an adult. While I was a boy, afraid of what he was, brought in to fight, because I was useful. A last second candidate, who had no experience.

We were very different people in many regards. The most humorous was that I was viewed as the reluctant fighter, while she was seen more of the glory hound.

How wrong they were.

Yes she loved piloting; she trained for it her whole life it would be hard not to love the idea of finally being able to use what you learn. But fighting was something she didn't love. It was hard to see; she wore her mask very well but if you had looked closely enough the cracks where there. Each fight took a little more out of her; the glory she sought after wasn't what she thought it would be.

Thinking back upon that time I came to the realisation that the day I saved her life was the greatest injustice to her, had she died then she would have been content and happy never knowing the pain that her dream and goals would of brought her. Alas even if I could redo the event I would always save her, not out of love nor friendship but the little part of me that enjoyed the challenge. The idea of risking everything and coming back victorious.

My mantra was simple, a set of words I would speak aloud to encourage myself to fight, believing that I was afraid of fighting I would tell myself that I couldn't run away. Alas the importance of the words were lost to me, I never truly wished to run away. It was always a simple reminder to stand when I fell, to fight when others couldn't, to win when all seemed lost.

How simple words are, and how fear can cloud the mind. How easily we can convince ourselves of what we want to believe. I was not the only one that did this. Looking back all of us were trying to convince ourselves of one thing or another.

My guardian didn't want to think of how she was still in love with her old flame, and he didn't want to think about how his search for the truth was a want for simple revenge. My father didn't want to believe that his plans were in vain, and the old professor wanted to believe that he was doing the right thing. The doctor wanted to believe that her love was reciprocated. One of my friends wanted to believe that he was doing the right thing, while the other wanted to believe that war was glorious even as he watched the fallout destroy everything around him. The other pilot wanted to believe that she was simply a tool to be used, even as her emotions surfaced and tried to tell her otherwise. Even the class rep wanted to simply believe in the idea of being in love while everyone she knew left or was taken away.

All of us wanted to lie to ourselves regardless if the lies were to make us feel better or worse, it seemed a lot better than accepting the truth.

Even as I grew older I watched as comrades lie about what they want, ones saying how they wished to go home, but never leaving when there time was up, talking about how much they loved there girl back home yet never trying to talk to her when they got the chance. Not all of them would lie, but as the years went on I could see more lies than truth.

Maybe it is a human thing, we lie to ourselves and others so not to face pain, all the changes we make, all the knowledge we attain and yet we simply can't talk honestly about something's.

I find it strange during a fire fight I find myself alive all the troubles gone and my constant lies about myself vanish, I am alive and I always plan to stay that way, I have no delusion of living for ever but I don't ever want to simply roll over and die. Fear leaves and I accept that this is my place, the one place I like more than any other. As long as there is an enemy to fight and job to be done I am content.

Fighting is the only thing that I have ever been good at, but unlike others who fight for a reason, a cause, a belief. I fight because I am good at it and like it. It is the only thing I can no longer lie about. I had to make peace with the fact that I like war. Not in the same way that my friend liked it, it is not glorious; I am not a hero fighting for something I believe in. I am paid to fight an enemy and I will do it without remorse.

I wonder at times what my life would have been like if I had accepted such a simple fact when I was younger. That the reason I always came back was because I wanted to fight, sure the lives of the people around me held importance. But I wonder would it have been different if I had accepted the fact that my fear was derived from not wanting to like what I was good at. Would all those who died then be alive now, would I have been able to stop the tragedy that befell the world.

Or would I have let it happen knowing that the disorder and turmoil caused would stirrup more wars for me to fight in.

Fin


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